Upsettingly Abnormal

The earth is covered in epitaphs and epigrammatic utterances.

The old pol, age 77, is now in that lovely phase of his campaign where everything he touches turns to shit. Having more than enough media coverage he yearns for even more, more, more. To score even more media coverage he shows up at a boisterous rally of his fans dressed in a kilt. He’s become the man in the hospital who’s not getting out.

Have I hit my head on a door? Yes, I have, but to state it more precisely, my forehead hit the edge of the open door as I rounded the corner on my way to walking downstairs. This could be said in a number of different ways and with addendum: that I drew blood on my forehead from the unfortunate contact with the open door…

I have made peace with my walking, all the steps I’ve taken but never getting them back. I’d thought I was keeping track of my steps, more accurately, that the device was keeping track of my steps for me. I was mistaken, having misplaced my device, coming to believe that I was walking backwards, therefore losing the steps I thought I’d gained, for losing anything is painful.

Yesterday I lost interest in everything. Losing interest is very yesterday. Losing interest yesterday is, though, just as interesting as having now become interested this morning. And tomorrow is tomorrow as it will become.

 Last night’s viewing: L’Eclisse, Antonioni’s film (1962). The third film those who know unofficially consider the film part of the “trilogy”. Highly recommended.